Mortiul Common Grounds

As Leyak tore away at the brute’s neck, the mindless wolf now occupying his body ripped and pulled, chunks of fur coming from Bishop’s scruff as he ripped away at it. He had lost himself completely, wanting nothing more than blood from his sparring partner. He had gotten only a small amount from ripping the skin off of Bishop’s shoulder, but he wanted more. He needed more. However, Leyak’s hold on Bishop’s scruff was not enough, and as the larger male rolled over and crushed Leyak underneath him, the young wolf lost his breath, opening his mouth instinctively, a growl exhaled as he tried to regain the breath that was lost with the other male’s weight having crashed into him. This had given Bishop the advantage, and Leyak knew that the fight would soon be over. There wasn’t much else that Leyak could do besides aggressively try to fight back. But Bishop was much more experienced when it came to fighting. Although the young male was learning quickly, he still had not gained the experience any of the other Mortiul wolves had in fighting. Spars were nothing compared to a real fight, even if they tore each other to pieces. They would need to keep each other alive, whereas a real fight would result in one wolf dying.

If Leyak had been fighting Bishop as his opponent rather than his sparring partner, he would have died as soon as his jaws unlatched from the oaken male’s scruff. A barrage of hits came down on Leyak’s cranium, not giving him time to react as he kept his black eyes closed, protecting them from any harm that was to come. Bishop latched onto his ear at that moment, and the pup tried scrambling to his paws, to pull himself away before any real damage could be done. But as he tried pulling away, it seemed that it only helped further Bishop’s cause. Pain seared through the right side of his head as he felt the skin tear. It was not as bad as one would think it was, but it was still painful. He refused to yelp or scream for help however. This was payment for his mistake of trying to overpower Bishop when he should have used his smaller size to wear the male out instead. As the ear that was once atop his head fell to the ground, the pup pulled away, blood pouring down his face as he looked towards Bishop, black eyes giving no indication that he was in pain. The nub that was now his right ear only twitched a little as he could hardly hear out of it. It was simply the blood making everything hard to hear, but it was still enough for him to wonder what exactly it would be like fighting in his condition.

But he knew that the spar had gone on long enough, and if they weren’t careful, Leyak’s father would be less than pleased that the Protector of the pack and the future Alpha had torn each other to pieces getting a little too carried away. Instead, Leyak lowered himself in front of Bishop, giving a small growl. “Only because I know my father would hate to come back to a bloodbath,” He chuckled, looking to the male with a small nod. “Is there anything you have to remark on? For me to work on?” He spoke, already knowing that Bishop would probably say to protect vital body parts. If the wind had not been knocked from him, Leyak would have lifted his paws to protect and shield himself from the barrage, and it would have not ended with the young white lupine losing an ear. But he considered it one of his first achievements. Leyak would proudly show off his missing ear, and use it as a lesson to remember the importance of his training.

Protector Bishop

It was only by speaking to Ronin that Flint realized that his eyes held a horrifically vacant sheen to them.

He’d frequently heard other’s eyes described as “pools,” and in Ronin’s case, it was an excellent, startling likeness — in the worst possible way. They were still, lifeless, only capable of reflecting what other wolves willed them too. At first, he could have sworn he’d seen a shimmer of something residing within Ronin, but as he looked and stared, a churning anxiousness bubbled and built within him. Anything that’d once supported a semblance of individuality; a sliver of personality had painfully and obviously wasted away. The same could be witnessed plainly within Lluise. Did that happen to every wolf that tasted Mortiul’s poison? He took one tentative step backwards, shaking slightly. It seemed more and more likely every day he spent here, rotting within a putrid, festering pack. And for what now? Ebony had forsaken him. How exactly, he wasn’t sure, only aware of how the discovery of his father changed him. Any trace of what Lluise had once been had been entirely brutalized; even as she snarled, he couldn’t be sure if, perhaps, that might have been a sliver of something conscious. And there he stood, intact as he’d always been — but for how long? How long until he vanished?

“Not yours.” A voice whispered.

“Excuse me?” They were the first words the slave had uttered. Normally, Flint would have considered this a victory. Yet in these instances, it was anything but. Ronin shambled forwards; long, skeletal limbs shivering with every step, like a newborn fawn. Ronin’s body had been harrowingly starved for months on end, forced to the edges of survival. At first, Flint gave him faith, but now looking at him, he wondered if any semblance of sanity had wasted away. There was nothing left but loose, brindled hide draped over a skeleton; the contours of his face hollow and jutting. And his eyes — his eyes — what once were eyes were bulging so badly he feared they’d pop out of their sockets. “Not yours.” Ronin’s breath rattled the fur along his auburn face, too close for comfort as he pressed himself closer. Unconsciously, he took a tentative step backwards; a gentle, unthinking gesture to put a bit of space between them — no malicious, underlying motive, if there even could be one. All he’d wanted was to get away from that smell; the revolting, wafting reek of death that’d developed since the male’s first murder. It had never been cleaned of well, forever poignant —

And then there that scent was, harrowingly surrounding him as Ronin flung himself forwards in the holiest of rages; fangs dripping, frothing with eagerness. They both stumbled backwards, tumbling down together, and in that instant, he knew he’d only a single attempt to save his life. Every movement ebbed by with precarious slowness as they fell; as though air itself had liquefied. He was suddenly remarkably aware of every limb; every contour of his own body. He was going to land on his back, painstakingly bracing back his broken assailant with his forelegs. As they landed, the momentum would briefly propel those parted jaws forwards and around his throat. It would take only the tiniest, most insignificant twitch, and those glittering fangs would find themselves embedded on either side of his throat — in all terms, a typical, relatively painless death, especially for one who prided himself on being a warrior.

And yet he realized he wasn’t quite ready to die.

With all the force he could summon, he thrusted his lower half upwards, forcing his flailing assassin off and onto — well, he didn’t see. He only heard the thud; the backwards thwack of what he could only hope had been a neck. There wasn’t any time to be wasted looking back. All he could do was gather his legs and run as he’d never before, to somewhere, anywhere beyond this brutal place of death and decay and disaster. To Ferus.

The silence had been deafening as they made their way back to the Common Grounds. Feyre knew that opening her mouth would have been the worst thing for her to do in that moment, even if it was just to say thank you, so she kept her maw wired shut as she trekked alongside the hulking figure of the male who had chosen to gift her with mercy. Unsurprisingly, their return to the Commons was accompanied by the smell of blood. Unlike the usual reek of dried blood, this scent was disturbingly fresh, making Feyre unsure as to whether she wanted to look up from her pointed stare at the ground to sate her curiosity as to who had been hurt—or very possibly killed. Grey eyes decided they would trail upwards as she kept herself glued to the Alpha's side. A small flick of his tail against her flank caused a jolt of irrational fear to rattle her body, her back arching as she tried not recoil too far away from a caress that she quickly realised was nothing close to vile touch of Beelzebub. Feyre paused for a second as she decided that this interaction was beautifully different, and she willingly followed Adramalech as they approached the source of the foul stench of blood.

She found herself looking upon a gruesome scene shared between a Mortiul warrior who's name she had never gotten the chance to learn, and Adramalech's son, Leyak, a name she had learnt from whispers passing the mouth of the den in which she had been rotting for the past months. The bloody scene was quickly obstructed by the brutish form of her new protecter, her ears twitching backwards momentarily as she wondered if she had done something wrong for him to cut her off from the interaction, but as she peered under his massive body and caught of glimpse of the pooling blood and felt that surging disgust rise through her stomach, she knew exactly why he had put himself between her and the gruesome scene. Maybe this Alpha wasn't so careless after all? Or he just didn't want to deal with her having a conniption at the memories that returned along with the sight of such gore.

“Come Feyre, let’s get you settled into my den,” his deep voice rattled her bones as she shyly looked up to him, giving a gentle nod as she complied and found herself following rather keenly at the idea of moving into a murder's den. At least this murder would keep her safe. Feyre had sold out her own home for this rare feeling of safety, she was beginning to wonder how far she would go to keep it. The little she-wolf tried her best to ignore the interact between Adramalech and Kalia. It was odd not to be on the receiving end of someone's pity, but she was yet to figure out if this was a good thing or not. Maybe she really was drowning in this whole ordeal, but whatever was happening, Feyre would make sure she would do whatever it took to see her family again.

Eventually she found herself trailing Adramalech into his large den, her grey eyes instantly finding themselves settling upon a pelt that had been occupied by Sakia that same morning. She ignored the thought that she might be the she-wolf's replacement, as she was simply happy enough to find herself away from the dark and cramped breeder's den. “If you don’t wish to sleep on that, we can go find something you’d rather sleep on,” Adramalech had obviously noticed where her line of sight had landed, and she quickly made herself peel her gaze away from the gruesome piece bedding. “I don’t want you afraid to sleep here. I will not harm you in the way he has, if you wish to grab different bedding feel free to ask,” his closeness did not go unrecognised. Her breath hitched in her throat as she realised what this kind of closeness would have meant from Beelzebub. A hissed threat usually pressed against her throat, a strong paw pushing her to the ground or a maniacal laugh ringing in her ear. But Adramalech was so incredibly different to his brother. He had made sure to keep a respectable amount of space between them, while his usually booming voice had softened to a light rumble as he offered her a choice that wasn't morally crushing. Feyre looked to him as he lay down, grey eyes straying no further than his outstretched inky black paws. "I would like it if I could sleep on a bed of moss again..." she commented in a reminiscent mumble, dreaming of the softness of the bed she had made for herself back in Noctis—her old home. "But," she continued, cautiously bringing herself to lay close to Adramalech, still incredibly hesitant to close any kind of space between them, "it doesn't have to be done now." Feyre decided, settling with the cool stone and dirt floor beneath her, something she had become accustomed to in the breeders den. Besides, she imagined the only place one would be able to find moss in an area like this was a fair trip away from the Commons, and she had spent enough energy already today. "I'm just thankful for your offer, and...and to be free of him." The she-wolf paused for a second. "Th-thank you."

“I would like to request one thing, when you speak from now on, speak as if you have some confidence in you. You are not a breeder anymore. You are my personal companion. I have not come up with a rank yet, but you are higher than most of the wolves here now, I want you to act like it.” Feyre's ears twitched and her eyes grew in bewilderment. Personal companion? What did that mean? She quickly decided that if this unofficial title was enough to keep her away from the filthy clutches of Beelzebub, she wouldn't question it. Besides, she, a meek little girl, had just been offered a superior rank in a pack full of murderous warrior. Maybe she was doing better than she thought she was. "I will try my best if you wish it, Alpha Adramalech." She was sure that was the first time the Alpha's name had ever managed to roll its way off her tongue, yet it didn't feel like the kind of taboo she had always imagined it to be. Feyre tried not to dwell on this fact, instead laying her paws on her forelimb, choosing the recognise this as the first moment of peace she had felt in months.

The walk back from the stream had been a strained and silent affair, filled, on Kalia’s part, with anxiety. She knew, though it went unspoken, that she had crossed a line, had wasted her last chance with Adramalech. A chance for something she didn’t want, true, but the last chance all the same. She didn’t dare lift her head or say a word as they walked, and she couldn’t even bear to think what his plans for her might be now.

She did, however, allow herself to steal a glance or two at Feyre during the trek. She didn’t dare meet the other’s eyes, now; even Feyre, as weak and worthless as Kalia had once supposed her to be, ranked far above her now. Her mind was too numbed at the moment to form a full, coherent thought, but a dull, disdainful pity for the other female managed to make itself known. Coward...traitor...you lost yourself. The broken words were the only ones that could register in a mind that was almost broken itself. She could not promise herself that she would never break as Feyre had, but she did steel herself to resist that as long as she could.

But her strength was fading quickly, and she doubted she could hold out long.

And now here they were in the commons, and once again the sickening scent of blood hung in the air. Kalia’s stomach churned, and she swayed on her feet, summoning every last feeble bit of willpower she possessed to keep from collapsing. How had she once reveled in that awful, overpowering copper tang; how had she once lived for it? So wrong...I was so wrong...

The scene that met her eyes could not compare to the tournament in the caves, and yet to Kalia, weak as she was, it almost seemed worse. One of the alpha’s sons was missing an ear, and the protector’s shoulder was bleeding. A little farther on lay the lifeless body of a male she’d almost forgotten, the slave of the mad beta Beelzebub. She shuddered; the male had shared the same rank as she, and now he lay dead on the ground. The irony, and the warning, was not lost on her. First the general and now the slave- no one, no matter their title, was ever safe in Mortiul. Spots of black imposed themselves at the edges of her vision, and she forced her gaze away from the horrific scene.

Focused solely on keeping herself from losing consciousness, she didn’t hear Adramalech’s words to Feyre. But a sudden sharpness in his tone, his sudden presence in front of her, cut through the haze to capture her attention, and she realized he was speaking to her, though his voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel. His orders were cold and clear, but all the same it was a moment before she understood. She gaped at him, blinking bewilderedly and trying to convince herself that she had not misheard. He was really going to let her occupy a den and hide herself away where she wouldn’t have to look at the pack she now hated, wouldn’t have to hear their cruel voices? He must not have known how much she had longed for solitude, for a chance to shut out the world and stitch the pieces of herself back together as best she could. He must not have realized how much she had hoped for that, or he would never have allowed it, but in that moment she accepted it as the one thing that had gone right for her today.

His next words, his thinly-veiled threat concerning the breeder’s den, brought her back to the harsh reality. She walked a thin line; she was only a few steps from becoming Feyre or Lluise, and that, that was the thing she dreaded above all others. Whenever she could, she told herself, she would not antagonize the alpha any further; only on questions of right or wrong would she refuse as long as possible to give in. If obedience would save her from the breeder’s den, then obedience Adramalech would have.

She all but fled to Ronin’s old den, curling herself into a tight ball within it as if to shield herself from any threat that might come. But here, finally, where she could no longer see and hear the horrors of Mortiul, where she was alone with the broken thoughts that filled the fragments of her mind, she could let herself rest. Her heart eased its pounding somewhat, and the fear that had spread like a poison through her veins eased a little, ebbed away until finally she allowed herself to close her eyes, to rest for awhile and try to forget the horrors that lay outside, waiting for her to wake.

But even in her sleep she could still smell the blood.

Alpha Adramalech Feyre

Leyak’s black eyes looked towards his current mentor, waiting for him to speak of what he should work on better. It didn’t take long for Bishop to recognize his faults. The older male was definitely prepared for Leyak to ask the question, that much he was sure of. He listened intently to what the Protector said, thinking about each part of his sentence. He spoke of Leyak having brain and speed, unlike himself. Leyak would have argued, but he knew that he was in no position to do so. Bishop was much smarter than he gave himself credit, Leyak had seen that first hand when it came to Bishop protecting Adramalech. Bishop brought his paw to Leyak’s head, to emphasize his comment, and Leyak gave a nod in agreement with the male. He was here to learn, not refute what the male had to say. Bishop continued, remarking on Leyak’s bloodlust. It had been something he struggled with since he was a pup.

Leyak was not like his brother, where he would give into every single time the thought occurred to him. He wanted to learn to control it so he could bring it out into battle, or to keep it completely sated. But he knew that with his father having the same drive, he would have to learn from him on how to control that side of himself. He gave a nod Bishop’s way, dipping his head in a response of ‘thank you’ for the words that Bishop had given him. He needed to work on a lot of things, but he had time to do that.

His attention was grasped by Adramalech as he entered the clearing, black irises shifting over his father as he watched the two she-wolves that followed. Feyre was by Adramalech’s side, while Kalia was following behind. Something had happened at the stream, that much he was sure of. Something his father had done, had changed Feyre’s status, especially with the way Adramalech was now treating Feyre. His attention was turned away for a moment before he heard his name. Looking towards his father, he caught sight of the body of Ronin, dead on the ground. He wondered what exactly had happened while he and Bishop had been training, and who had done it. With how intensely he had been concentrated on the battle, he hadn’t thought of listening to his surroundings to make sure that others weren’t killing each other in the commons. And whoever was the culprit, was long gone.

Leyak followed Bishop, only giving a nod to his father in passing as they headed towards the corpse of Beelzebub’s slave. Ronin had been utterly useless, fitting the role of a slave well and being Beelzebub’s only playtoy besides Lluise. He wondered how exactly his uncle would react, knowing that Ronin had been killed by some wolf that had taken off immediately after. With the entire pack scattered, there was no telling who it could be until everyone was back in the commons, but it would be very noticeable on who it was after that. Bishop latched onto Ronin’s scruff, and Leyak took up the position at the rear, grabbing onto Ronin’s leg. The wolf was light, especially with how little he was fed before he died. He followed wordlessly, carrying the corpse to the borders with Bishop.

-Exit-

Protector Bishop | 570 words

Slender legs brought her towards the territory that she called home, aquamarine eyes glancing around as she took in the scenery. On one half of the territory, there was greenery, as much greenery as a mountain could have she supposed. The other half? Charred to a crisp obsidian color. The line between where Mortiul territory ended and Ignasia territory started was very clear. The only reason she had ever ventured into Ignasian territory was to talk with Quentin on occasion. But now that her attention was fully taken by Crimson, she hadn’t seen the male in quite awhile. Crimson and Mutt had decided that they would bring the worthless she-wolf along, and Yvaine had let them only because Mutt was looking to gain favor from Adramalech so that he would be promoted from Aamon’s pet to an assassin in training. Otherwise, Yvaine would have simply demanded she take the male as her own apprentice, and give Adramalech a murder in return for allowing her to take him away from his son. She had noticed at the stream the disdain written on Adramalech’s face. He was not happy with his son, and she had seen what had happened to the three of Beelzebub’s pups after their father was not happy with them.

Her sleek red pelt shifted as she walked, the beautiful red standing out among the green foliage as she walked. The fact that wolves would ever fall for her act when she looked the way she did? She had no clue. But it seemed that it worked every time. Whether it was flirting her way through a situation, asking for help as if she were injured, or anything else, she was able to pull it off remarkably well. Her attention shifted to the wound that was located on her leg. It had mostly scabbed over with dry blood, it not being deep enough to really harm her too much. But she would need to wash it in the stream should she not want it infected. She hadn’t learned herbal medicine by any means, but she at least knew she couldn’t have the wound sit in the infected blood. She would need to wash it out at the very least. Maybe Crimson would be willing to help her. Bringing her attention towards the male, she walked closer, pushing her flank against his as they walked. She wouldn’t say anything, but his presence was enough to make her happy.

They soon were at the commons, all four of them. She was sure that the she-wolf they had kidnapped would be awake by now, and be able to meet their Alpha. Her eyes searched for the black brute, seeing that he was nowhere in the commons. He was probably off somewhere with those two little slaves that he had taken for himself. She wondered if they would come up and into the ranks as something more since he had taken them on. But she highly doubted it. Kalia had not been very impressive since the moment she stepped foot into the territory. Adramalech would be a fool for trusting her in the first place. She introduced herself as a liar, someone who lied to even their Alphas at the borders. And she tried getting away with lying about eating the dead pups when they were first brought into the pack. She was sure that the she-wolf’s pride would overcome her necessity to live, and she would eventually succumb to being another body for the pack to feast on sooner or later.

Trotting over to Adramalech’s den, she caught the strong smell of her Alpha, as well as the little breeder Feyre. She cleared her throat, grasping her Alpha’s attention before beckoning her head backwards towards their group. “I’m pleased to announce that both Crimson has successfully killed his first target. A pesky rogue that was far too cocky for his own good,” She spoke, a smirk on her face. “He took him out with no mercy, and hardly gave the young male any time to react,” She explained to Adramalech, his black eyes looking towards her with a blank expression. “And Mutt,” She spoke, voice almost a purr as she looked towards the young male. “He made a kill as well. And brought you home a gift,” She beckoned for Mutt to bring the she-wolf forward so that Adramalech could take a closer look at her. Yvaine moved out of the way, returning to Crimson’s side. “Your training is done. But his is not,” She spoke, looking towards Mutt. “We could consider him our first child. After all, I’ve never liked how Koga raised his children. He deserves better than that,” She spoke, tail flicking as she slid it down Crimson’s back before resting it on the ground, aquamarine eyes watching her surroundings while her ears were concentrated on what Crimson would say to her proposition. After all, she had said ‘our first child’.

Alpha Adramalech Assassin Crimson Apprentice Mutt Yona | 840 words